


Two's Company

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: "It could just have easily been him lying there, Mac knew. In which case, she’d still be standing here, consoling the other half of this unlikely, but somehow inevitable, partnership."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the May Trope challenge. The first chapter is the hurt/comfort part. The second chapter will be mainly fluff.

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan leaned in the doorway, unnoticed by the pitiful man staring at the still figure in the bed before him.

“I believe your room is down the hall, inspector.”

There was no reaction but for his quiet huff of irritation.

“At least sit down. Before you fall down,” she said, moving forward and drawing a chair over to where he stood.

“I’m fine,” he said, but accepted the chair, settling into it heavily.

“You’re not. And you’re causing the nurses undo anxiety when they repeatedly find you out of bed.”

He shrugged, obviously indifferent to their plight.

It could just have easily been him lying there, Mac knew. In which case, she’d still be standing here, consoling the other half of this unlikely, but somehow inevitable, partnership.

“If you have no pity for the poor nurses, have some for me. I’m the one that will have to answer to her if you’re broken when she wakes up.”

He turned his eyes on her for the first time. Just for a moment, but in it she saw the deep anguish. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Go back to your room. You shouldn’t be walking around risking a fall. I’ll make sure you hear if there’s any change.”

“I won’t rest.”

“You’ll try, or I’ll give you a sedative to make sure you do,” she threatened. It was an idle threat. She’d never sedate a patient with a head injury, which he likely knew, but it had a shot at working. He might think her just stubborn enough to follow through and he’d never risk being out cold in case Phryne did awaken.

“Come on,” she said, offering her hand to help him up. “You’ll be the first to know. You have my word.”

After handing him off to a nurse, Mac took his place by Phryne’s bedside. It was jarring to see her so still. So quiet. And all the more disturbing because there was no medical reason for it. Phryne should have woken by now and the surgeons were baffled.

She’d been spitting mad when they’d brought her in. A lot of that had to do with the adrenaline, and anxiety over Jack’s injury, but it hadn’t helped that the splintered wood had torn through a favorite blouse as it impaled itself in her lower back.

They’d been mostly clear of the blast radius. Out of reach of any shrapnel that might have caused more extensive damage, but the explosion had shattered the surrounding crates, sending large pieces airborne. Jack had caught a plank to the back of the head and was knocked flat. According to Phryne, he’d briefly lost consciousness.

While fussing over him, Phryne hadn’t even noticed her own injury. Over her objections, Jack had carried her to the end of the dock, calling to his men for an ambulance.

He rode with her to hospital as they argued over who was more in need of medical attention.

Phryne lost the argument through no fault of her own. The proximity of the large splinter to her spine was concerning and she was rushed into the operating theatre.

It wasn't until then that Jack finally allowed Mac to look him over. He had a nasty gash that had bled quite a lot, but didn’t require stitching. Still, she thought it best to keep an eye on him. Head wounds had a way of taking unforeseen turns.

She suggested he be admitted for observation and was surprised when he readily agreed, until she realized it was only because he had no intention of leaving the hospital while Phryne remained, and the medical recommendation made his presence easier to defend to outsiders.

Phryne’s surgery went well. The impalement was shallower than it first appeared. She'd have a small scar, but even that would fade in time. Everyone had expected her to wake hours ago.

Mac had raked the anesthesiologist over the coals trying to determine if she’d been given too much anesthetic, but he swore up and down that wasn’t the case. A check of the equipment seemed to bear that out.

She reached out now to wrap her fingers around Phryne’s wrist. The pulse remained strong and steady. A good sign.

“This is what you get for poking your head in where it doesn’t belong,” she scolded.

There was no sarcastic reply, not that she’d expected one. She gave instructions to the night nurse to wake her if there were any change, and went to find an empty room to catch a few hours shut eye.

Five hours later, she returned to the room, unsurprised to once again find Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. This time he was asleep in the chair at Phryne’s side, his head dropped down on his chest, his hand on the bed, covering hers.

“We gave up on shooing him away,” the nurse explained. “At least this way he’s getting some rest.”

Mac nodded and went to make her rounds, her load lightened at the thought that Phryne wouldn’t wake alone.

She’d been expecting all day to hear word and it had always been in the back of her mind, but it was late afternoon before she was able to stop by again. She walked into the room with a small nod to the now expected sentry and snatched up the chart at the end of the bed.

She hummed in frustration. This didn’t make sense.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” he asked, caressing Phryne with his gaze.

“You look like shite. How much sleep did you get?”

“Enough.”

She turned on her heels to go find a phone. Half an hour later she returned to the room with Dorothy Williams in tow and shoved a paper wrapped bundle into Jack’s lap.

“I’m discharging you. No point in wasting a bed. You’ll find your shaving kit and a change of clothes in there,” she said. “There’s a locker room and shower on the third floor, take my key and go make yourself presentable.”

He peeked inside the package and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question how these women had got their hands on his own clothes and toiletries. Still, he didn’t budge from his chair.

“Get a move on, inspector. I’m tired of seeing her in that hospital gown and Dot’s here to help set her to rights. I’ve been indulgent of your stubborn presence so far, but there is a limit to how much of her I’ll let you see without her consent,” she said.

She waited, thinking that were the situation reversed, such a threat would never be enough to dislodge Phryne from the room. More likely, it would provide incentive to stay.

Jack was a different animal and his reaction was the one she expected. His face flushed a faint red before he took one last look at Phryne and left the room without another word.

She didn’t see him again until she returned after her evening rounds. This time she came bearing gifts.

She set the bottle and glasses down heavily on the table beside the bed. The sound of glass contacting metal roused him from his slumber and he looked up at her, a bit bleary eyed, before turning his attention back to the still sleeping beauty.

“No change,” he informed Mac, unnecessarily.

“She looks a bit better though,” Mac said. “She’s lost that peevish expression.”

“Most likely due to the wardrobe change,” he said. “Good call on that.”

Phryne did indeed look more settled in her silk nightgown. Her black ‘fighting cock’ robe hung from a hook on the wall in anticipation of her rising.

“I see Miss Williams has been back, and is taking good care of you,” she said with a nod to the picnic basket in the corner. “I hope you took advantage of that.”

“There might be a bit left, if you’re hungry,” he said.

She crossed the room and peeked into the basket.

“Hmm,” she hummed. A bit was right. Apparently even worry and grief were not enough to dampen his healthy appetite. She plucked a small biscuit from the wrappings and popped it into her mouth before returning to the table to pour them each a drink.

“You’re not going to tell me to go home?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Would there be any point in that?”

He pulled a chair out from the corner for her, and after handing him a glass, she dropped into it and propped her feet up on Phryne’s bed.

“I’m off duty,” she said, raising her glass before taking a long sip.

He raised his own in return.

She watched him close his eyes, his head tilting back slightly as the liquid washed down his throat. Clean shaven and properly attired, he too looked better than he had this morning. They were alike in that, he and Phryne, both being accustomed to, and more comfortable in, their armor. Mac understood that inclination as well.

He really was an incredible specimen of a man. That alone would have been enough to draw Phryne’s attention, but not her devotion. He needed other attributes beyond his good looks to pull at that cord, but pull he did.

Mac remembered those weeks when they’d been estranged. She’d watched it play out with a growing sense of wonder.

She had seen it before, many times. Some poor sod became beguiled enough by Phryne to declare his adoration, after which her door couldn’t hit his backside fast enough.

This time had been different. For one thing, after showing his hand, Jack had apparently found his own way to the door.

Phryne had tried to play it off as insignificant, but Mac knew her too well to be fooled. When she’d blithely said that Jack had decided she was too much trouble, Mac could hear the pain behind her words.

Phryne Fisher, a woman who prided herself on being too much trouble for most men—in fact preferred it that way—had been left adrift by this man’s retreat.

It was then Mac realized that if ever a man was going to get hooks into her friend, it was Jack Robinson. 

“She’ll wake up,” Mac said. The statement as much an order to the sleeping Phryne, as an attempt to comfort Jack. “There’s no medical reason for her not to.”

“Then why hasn’t she?”

Mac shrugged. “Maybe she needs the rest and her body has found a way to override her mind so that she’ll get it. Or, vice versa. I don’t know.”

“It does makes sense that the only one that could make Phryne Fisher slow down would be Phryne Fisher,” he said.

“She’d hate this though,” Mac said, “us fretting over her this way,”

“Yes. She’d find my constant presence especially cloying.”

“And yet you stay. Risking her ridicule.”

“And yet I stay.”

The look he gave her was one of a man that knew he had no secrets and didn’t particularly care.

He took another small sip from his glass and they sat in silence for a few minutes. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his eyes for Phryne alone.

Mac thought he was wrong. Phryne wouldn’t resent his attendance to her, in fact, she might even welcome it.

“She shouldn’t have been there,” he said, almost inaudibly.

“I doubt anyone could have stopped her.”

“I didn’t even try, and there was no reason for her to be there. No reason at all. I need to put my foot down more,” he said, sternly.

“Good luck with that.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he scoffed. “I have no authority over her. Nobody does, except maybe you.”

“Me?” Mac said, “not on my best day.”

Their eyes met and something passed between them. An understanding that of all the people that knew and loved Phryne Fisher, they were, perhaps, the two that knew and loved her best. Unconditionally.

“Why do we put up with her?” she asked, rhetorically.

Jack looked back at Phryne and Mac watched as his features softened. His lips curved ever so slightly downward and a new a wrinkle appeared on his brow. For a man that so carefully controlled his expression, he might as well have been keening.

She took a large swallow of whisky to push the lump back down her throat. A vulnerable and heartbroken Jack Robinson was a tough thing to witness.

“You have more influence over her than you think,” she said. He blinked at her in surprise. “More than anyone I’ve ever seen, to be honest—and she wouldn’t like me telling you that.”

“Well, if it’s true, and I’m not sure that it is, how do I wield this supposed influence?”

“That’s the tricky part. You have it only because you don’t wield it.”

“Sounds about right,” he said.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and laughed. A low, rueful chuckle that gave away his utter desperation. The sound ripped through Mac’s psyche like a physical blow. She had the strangest, but fleeting, urge to wrap him up in her arms.

Mac was beginning to understand what made Phryne so attached to this man. Jack Robinson, with his guard down, was positively disarming. Were she of a different inclination, she might...but no, it wasn’t that kind of attraction.

It was a fondness borne from the way he looked at her oldest friend. The way he cherished Phryne and respected her. Not because she was outwardly beautiful—though Mac had no doubt of the physical attraction—but because he valued the whole of her, and saw the whole of her, as few before ever had. And he loved her. By God, did he love her.

 _Wake up, fool_ , she thought. _I want you to see this. I want you to have this. Because you deserve it, and so does he._

She grabbed the bottle to top off their glasses.

“It’s not like we're going anywhere tonight,” she said, justifying the generous pour.

* * *

A comforting rumble of conversation buzzed in her head. She listened without moving as the sounds became clearer, more recognizable. There was a familiar laugh, joined quickly by another—the sound warmed her to the core.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” she rasped, her throat dry, her voice creaky from disuse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne wakes up. Her physical wounds healing, she and Jack seek ways to heal some emotional ones. Mac lends a comforting hand in her own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the editing process this got longer and a bit less fluffy than when it began. I broke it into two chapters, but I'm posting both now because I promised you fluff and you're going to get some. Eventually.

“Well look who’s back.” Mac was immediately at Phryne’s side, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.

Phryne opened her eyes and looked around, confused by her surroundings. Mac was smiling at her oddly and Jack—Jack stood off to the side looking concerned. His posture rigid, his hands clasped tightly in front of his body.

“How are you feeling, Miss Fisher?” He asked, in his best Detective Inspector voice.

“I’m fine, Jack. How are you?” She blinked at him blankly.

“Do you know where you are, sweetheart?” Mac asked.

“Well...I’m...” she tried to sit up and grimaced in pain. 

Jack was there in a flash, steadying her and settling some pillows behind her back.

“Be careful of her incision,” Mac said.

“Of course,” he replied. “Is there anything I could get for her? Some water perhaps?”

“I don’t think that would hurt.”

“What is going on here?” Phryne demanded, “why are you treating me as though I’m a child?”

“There was an explosion,” Jack said, gently. “Do you remember that?”

“Of course I do!” She replied testily, as it all came rushing back.

They were running. He right beside her. She’d been knocked to the ground and had pulled herself up to find him lying face down and unresponsive. Everything after that was a bit hazy.

“You were hurt, Jack,” she said reaching for him. He took her hand, caressing it reassuringly.

“It was just a bump on the head. _You_ had us worried though.” His eyes were searching hers in that penetrating way they had.

“Me? Don’t be silly, I’m fine. And it was more than a bump. You were knocked unconscious.” She looked him over thoroughly, checking for signs of injury. “Those are not the clothes you had on," she said suspiciously.

“I see her powers of observation haven’t dimmed,” Mac said.

“That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” Jack asked.

“I’ll thank you not to talk around me as if I’m not here!” Phryne snapped. “Somebody tell me why he’s up walking around and I’m the one lying in this hospital bed!”

“You were seriously injured,” Jack said.

“I’ve a bit of pain, but ‘serious’ seems an exaggeration,” she argued. “I remember you insisting on an ambulance, but—”

“Your injury required surgery.”

“Required? Past tense?” Phryne asked, finally quieting and giving them her full attention.

“Yes. The procedure took place two days ago. It went well,” Mac said.

“Two days? That can’t be right.”

She looked to Jack for confirmation and he nodded.

“I’m afraid it’s true, Miss Fisher.”

Mac shined a light in her eyes. Phryne batted the little torch away in irritation.

“Oh, stop fussing!” She said, growing agitated again. “I’m fine.”

“That remains to be seen, but you’re clearly as contrary as ever, which oddly enough makes me happy,” Mac said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, Inspector. I’d like to give my patient a more thorough examination.”

“Of course,” he said, giving Phryne's hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Miss Fisher, I’m glad...well...it’s...it’s very good to see you.”

“You too, Jack,” she said. “It was nice of you to stop by.” She watched him go with a growing lump in her throat.

Mac followed Jack toward the door, drawing the curtains around Phryne’s bed as she went.

“She’ll be all right now, won’t she?” Jack asked, keeping his voice low.

“I believe so,” Mac replied in barely more than a whisper. “She appears well, if a little confused, but that’s understandable. Go home and get some rest. You can see her tomorrow.”

* * *

Phryne spent two more days in hospital. Mac stopped in whenever she had the chance and Dot was often around to keep her company, but she found herself watching the door for someone else.

At last he came.

To get her statement on the incident at the docks.

That he felt the need to create a pretense for his visit was disappointing, but at least he hadn’t run, like last time. Still, this dance of one step forward and two steps back was growing tiresome.

She was finally released under doctor’s orders to rest. Having been a nurse herself, she understood the consequences of risking re-injury, and so waited out her confinement as patiently as she could, which is to say not very.

When she showed up at the station on only her second day home, he scolded her.

“Come on, Jack. It’s deadly dull at home. I was just looking for a bit of company and thought you might enjoy a spot of lunch.”

“You were hoping to stumble into a case by taking advantage of my weakness for Mr. Butler’s cooking. I really should call Dr. MacMillan this minute.”

“But you won’t,” she said, setting the basket in front of him where the aroma was sure to work its magic. She got busy dishing out the contents.

“As long as you’re here,” he said, salivating over the plate before him, “have a look at this and tell me what you think.”

He handed her a thick file folder. She smiled adoringly at him and saw his face flush before he could turn away. It made her inordinately happy as she settled into his guest chair and buried her nose in the file.

Half an hour later he caught her trying to stifle a yawn. He stood and began packing up the remnants of their luncheon.

“Home to bed, Miss Fisher.”

“Is that an invitation?”

He raised an eyebrow at her cheek.

“May I take this with me?” she asked sweetly, indicating the file.

“It’s an ongoing case...”

“And a sticky one, which I think I can help with given more time to look it over properly. Why don’t you come by tonight and we can discuss it further?”

“Only if you promise to get some rest this afternoon.”

“If you insist,” she said.

He did come by that evening, and the next. They would discuss the case, but made little progress on it. Their conversations had a way of veering off topic until Jack would express surprise at how late the hour had grown and rush off, apologizing for having kept her up.

What he didn’t know was that he increasingly kept her up at night regardless of his presence. Her memory of that day on the docks had come back to her in full, including her panic in those moments before she could determine that he still breathed. When faced with a similar occurrence, he’d chosen to flee. For her, the urge was to hold on tighter. She just wasn’t sure how to do that, or if it would even be welcome anymore.

An article in the morning paper provided an excuse to visit him at the station and she jumped at the chance, hurrying to her room to dress.


	3. Chapter 3

“This will be enormous help with the case, Doctor,” Jack said. “Thank you for bringing it to me. I’d have come to you, but it’s been a busy morning.”

“My pleasure. I really didn’t mind the trip. It’s nice to get out of the hospital in daylight hours on occasion,” Mac said, taking a sip of her tea. “Ugh. This is really terrible, Jack.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But it serves its purpose.”

Mac sat back and propped her feet up on his desk .

“Have you spoken to her?” She asked.

“I speak to her frequently,” Jack replied. “She seems to be recovering nicely.”

“Mmm, hmm. That’s not exactly what I meant, Inspector.”

“What’s the point? I know where she stands on the matter and I’m happy with the way things are.”

 

* * *

 

Phryne strolled past the desk with a wave to Hugh Collins, who had long ago stopped questioning her presence, and on toward Jack’s office, stopping outside the door when she realized he had company.

“You’re happy?”

She heard Mac say.

“Basically, yes,” Jack replied.

“You’re a coward.” Mac’s tone was matter of fact, but there was a teasing, almost affectionate note to it.

“I’m a pragmatist, doctor,” Jack replied. Then dropping his voice conspiratorially, he added, “and she’s slightly terrifying.”

Mac laughed. Phryne took a deep breath and pushed through the door.

“Who’s terrifying?”

“Miss Fisher!” Jack exclaimed.

“Hello Mac. Now, Inspector—what about this murder? Is it the work of our thief?” She asked, barreling ahead. “It seems an odd escalation for our gentleman burglar. Until now he’s managed to get his hands on the jewels without aggression.”

“How did you...? Collins,” Jack said, answering his own question before he’d even finished forming it.

“Don’t blame your constable. I saw the story in the paper and put two and two together. I’m a bit put out that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“I didn’t tell you because it’s not really related to our case. The murderer, as I suspected from the start, was the victim’s husband. Who, it turned out, was deep in debt to a bookie and very much in love with his mistress. He had read about the recent jewel thefts and thought a copy-cat crime would provide excellent cover for a murder that would solve both his problems in one fell blow.”

“A nasty blow at that,” added Mac. “Taken yourself off of bed rest I see. Not that I’m surprised.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Phryne an admonishing glare. Phryne waved her hand in the air dismissively.

“Rest is over-rated. Jack needed my assistance with a case.”

“Did he now?” Mac said, looking at a Jack in a manner that could only be described as gloating.

“A jewel thief,” Jack explained, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I felt Miss Fisher was uniquely qualified to consult, seeing as our victims are all members of Melbourne’s social scene.”

“Of course,” Mac said, dryly. “Makes perfect sense. Do try to keep her out of harm's way for at least another day or so.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Mac rose to her feet, vacating the chair for Phryne, who ignored it and went to perch on the desk at Jack’s side.

“Well, I have patients to see,” Mac said. “Patients who actually appreciate and follow my advice.”

She slapped her hat on her head with a disparaging look at Phryne, and was out the door.

“What was that about?” Phryne asked.

“I think she’s annoyed at you for being up and around,” Jack replied.

“No. Before that. Between the two of you.”

“We were going over some notes from an autopsy,” Jack said.

“You sounded rather...chummy.”

“Chummy?”

“Yes. I hadn’t realized you two were so well acquainted.”

“Our paths do cross, Miss Fisher. Professionally as well as socially.”

“Socially?”

“Yes. Our association with you has, at times, brought us into contact with each other outside of our professional duties.”

“Hmm...” she hummed suspiciously. Having her in common did thrust them together, but there seemed to have been a change in their dynamic, and she couldn’t put her finger on when that might have happened. She had the distinct feeling she was missing something important.

“I’m very sorry I couldn’t turn our dull little burglary case into a murder for you,” he said, turning in his chair to face her.

She leaned closer and reached to straighten the knot of his tie.

“That’s all right, Jack. I’m rather glad our thief hasn’t escalated to murder.”

“Why’s that, Miss Fisher,” he asked, holding very still under her ministration.

“It would’ve blown apart my theory. I believe we’re dealing with a very smooth operator. All of the thefts happened in highly public venues and most of the woman never noticed the missing items until they were long gone.”

“I agree,” Jack said. “These aren’t strong armed robberies but more slight of hand, and he’s not overly greedy. He takes what’s easy to pocket—a bracelet or ring— while leaving more valuable items behind.”

“Yes.” She moved her hands to rest on his shoulders, looking him pointedly in the eye. “I wonder why he doesn’t go for the bigger score.”

“We’re dealing with a cautious man,” he said, pushing back and rising from his chair. He picked up a folder, taking it to the filing cabinet and carefully slotting it into place in the drawer.

Momentarily defeated, she moved from the desktop to his guest chair. Sitting delicately and crossing her ankles demurely.

“Perhaps we need to draw him out,” she said.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we might set a trap. What do you say to a night at the theater, Inspector?”

“You’re suggesting yourself as the bait?”

“More my jewels, but yes. With you there to provide cover, of course.”

“Are you sure you’re up to going out?”

“I’ve been cooped up long enough. I’m more than up to it. In fact, if you don’t agree to accompany me, I might very well go on my own.”

“What time shall I call for you?”

 

* * *

 

“It was great fun, Mac and wonderful to be back out there again after being idle so very long!”

“For goodness sake, Phryne. One would think you were laid up for months rather than a few days.”

“Our thief was really quite clever,” she said, continuing her story with little regard to her friend’s criticism. “I should have realized long ago we were looking for a woman. It took us several evenings to flush her out.”

“Several evenings where you had to endure the inspector’s company. I’m sure it was trying,” Mac said, eyeing Phryne over her cocktail glass.

Phryne grinned like the cat that had got the cream. “You really must see him in evening dress. That man is wasted as a policeman.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No. Of course not. He’s a brilliant detective, and right where he should be, but it was a distinct pleasure to hang off his arm. I do believe he may have turned more heads than even I did!”

“You don’t mean that either,” Mac said.

“Well, I do have some fabulous gowns and was positively dripping in jewels, so perhaps not, but we made a very handsome couple.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“And we solved another case! He’s coming for dinner tonight. To celebrate.” Phryne glanced at the clock.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Mac said, tossing back the rest of her drink.

“Don’t be silly. It’s just dinner between colleagues. You’re more than welcome to join us,” Phryne said lightly, but she’d already risen from her seat in a manner that could only be interpreted as a dismissal. Mac smiled.

“You don’t fool me, Phryne. You’ve talked of little but him since I got here.”

Phryne huffed grumpily.

“You might as well stay,” she said. “Try as I might, I never seem to get anywhere. It seems he made up his mind about me long ago. He can’t be bothered.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. It wasn’t coincidence that he was there when you woke.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man barely left your side those two days. We couldn’t pry him from your room.”

“Really?” She tried unsuccessfully to keep a neutral expression on her face, her lips betraying her and curling into a wide grin.

“He cares for you a great deal, Phryne. Do be careful with him,” Mac said.

The parlour doors opened and Mr. Butler admitted the man in question.

“Jack!” Phryne exclaimed. “I didn’t hear the door!”

“Good evening, Miss Fisher, I hope I’m not early.”

“No. Right on time!”

“Dr. MacMillan,” Jack said, looking extremely pleased. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”

“Sadly, I’m not. I just stopped by to give Phryne a clean bill of health.”

“Mac has a previous engagement,” Phryne said, a bit too eagerly.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said, turning his head toward Phryne, their eyes locking together.

“I’ll see myself out then, shall I?” Mac said, to no reply. “You two enjoy your evening.”

She closed the parlour doors behind her as she left.

“Dinner will be ready shortly, but I believe we have time for a small aperitif,” Phryne said, handing him one of the cocktails Mr. Butler had prepared. “You like Mac, don’t you,” she said conversationally.

“I do. She’s a remarkably accomplished woman. And very interesting company.”

“I hope you’re not too disappointed she couldn’t stay.” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Not at all, Miss Fisher,” he replied. “Present company is quite enough.”

“Good,” she said, looking up at him from hooded eyes and laying a hand softly on his arm.

She noted his sudden intake of breath and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Both promising signs.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment. There are some things I need to go over with Mr. Butler regarding our supper.”

When they entered the dining room, she was pleased to see her requested changes had been made.

The lights were low, a candelabra fitted with tall, white pillar candles blazed and the service was elegantly set for two.

She seated him at the head of the table, pulling her chair in close and letting her ankle brush casually up against his calf occasionally throughout the meal. By the end of the desert course, each had a hand resting on the table, only a whisper’s breadth between them.

She stood, letting her hand slide forward, her fingertips brushing over his lightly.

“Shall we move to the parlour?”

Phryne was pleased when he took the hint and seated himself on the chaise by her side. She had been encouraged by Mac’s words and his reactions to tonight's overtures seemed to bear them out. The possibilities were stimulating.

She marveled that the simple act of sitting beside him, with nothing more than their shoulders pressed together, should have such a profound affect on her mental and physical state. Her blood stirred and her hands felt slightly clammy. Her heart stutter wildly, rendering her light headed.

 _He must feel it too,_ she thought. How could he not? It had been building for such a long time, almost from the day they met. Now, she was equally in a rush, and loathe to hurry things along. There was a sweet torture to the anticipation and uncertainty.

They hardly spoke of the case, quickly moving on to various other topics, but she was barely following the lines of conversation. He didn’t seem to notice her distraction, appearing perfectly content just to be in her company.

When Mr. Butler stepped in to inquire if she would have further need of him, both she and Jack expressed surprise at the lateness of the hour.

“I’m sure we can fend for ourselves, Mr. Butler. Please feel free to retire.”

“I really should be going myself,” Jack said, after the butler had taken his leave.

“But we’re having such a lovely time,” she objected.

She got up and refilled his glass. He didn’t stop her, and lingered over the drink, but once his glass was again empty, he refused another and rose to his feet.

“Thank you for a most enjoyable evening,” he said. His eyes fell on hers with a heat that nearly made her swoon. He took her hand in his and pressed it gently to his lips before releasing it again.

On unsteady limbs, she followed him to the foyer. He lifted his hat from the stand. Her heart started beating a frantic rhythm.

“Stay.”

He turned. His head tilted to one side, his eyes narrowed, questioning. The tightness in her chest doubled.

“What did you say?”

“I said, stay. Don’t go.”

He let her take his hat and return it to the stand.

“Are you sure?”

He stood rooted to the floor. She could see he fought to maintain the distance between them, to give her time to consider his three simple, yet loaded, words. Her response was swift.

“I am.”

He smiled.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She thought she might fall, or lift into the air, either one seemed likely.

She reached for his hand and led him up the stairs.

 

* * *

  

She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was still dark when she felt him stir.

His lips brushed lightly against her cheek and the bed swayed slightly as he cautiously made to rise. She reached out, grabbing hold of his arm.

“No,” she said, pulling at him.

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” he said. He lay back down obediently and gathered her to him.

“Much better,” she sighed, snuggling to his chest. “I could stay here all day.”

“A fine idea,” he said, “but I think I’ll eventually be missed at the station.”

“At least stay until it’s light.”

“And risk running into your staff?”

“It’s bound to happen eventually. Unless you plan to sneak out under cover of darkness every time.”

“I wasn’t sneaking—every time?”

He pulled away to look in her eyes. She laid her hand upon his cheek, smiling.

“You asked me if I was sure, Jack. I knew what that meant and I told you I was.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, darling. For quite some time now. And you?”

“Need you ask?”

“It’d be nice to hear.”

“I love you, Phryne.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

He rolled her onto her back, rising over her.

“I think the station can get along fine without me for a few hours.”

She gripped him tightly and arched up, trying to press herself as close as possible.

“It's going to have to,” she said.


End file.
